


the edge of goodbye

by telanaris



Series: Arcana One-Shots [16]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, dad fic, dad!julian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-06-01 00:16:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15130892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telanaris/pseuds/telanaris
Summary: “Dima,” Julian says, his voice stern, his face serious. He knees in front of his son, a hand on each of his shoulders. “Now, I know you’re excited, but you have to be careful, alright? Don’t do anything your Dad wouldn’t do.”“Dad,” Dmitri says, a faint note of exasperation in his voice, “‘don’t do anything you wouldn’t do?’ You’ve stolen a pregnant war elephant. It’s like, your favorite story.”- - - - - - - -Julian and Aredhel are entrusting their son into Asra's care for the summer, so that Asra can teach him magic. Julian, however, is finding it a little bit hard to say goodbye.





	the edge of goodbye

The day that Julian Devorak returns to Vesuvia is the worst day of his life—and, given the life he has led up until this point, that’s really saying something.

Every step is an exquisite agony as he walks the cobbled streets of the city that was once his home. The sea breeze (the smell of it here, so unique, salt mixed with spring blossoms and spice) tosses his auburn hair, now peppered here and there with silver, tempting to lure him into memory. Nostalgia. Events long past—but he resists. His pain, his anxiety, keeps him rooted firmly in the present.

Nothing that has ever happened to him here is as terrible, as _unbearable_ , as what is about to occur. He has dreaded this moment for months. It is worse than any rejection he had suffered from Asra, worse than any abuse he had suffered from Lucio. The trepidation and pain of his death—being executed on the gallows, unsure if he’d be able to fight his way back— _pales_ in comparison to the emotion that roils in him now, leaving him tense from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. An anxious sweat beads his brow—it has nothing to do with the heat.

“Are you alright, Ilya?”

So lost in thought is Julian that he does not even notice his wife approach. Aredhel slips her hand into his and gives it an encouraging squeeze. Even at this simple touch, he feels the tension lessen in his shoulders, though it does not leave him completely.

As usual—as she has been for these past sixteen years—she is his rock. His anchor. His strength.

“I’ll be alright, darling,” Julian says, quietly. 

She continues to look at him, concern written plainly across her face. They have talked about this day countless times, lying awake in bed. She has held him and soothed him on the ship that bore the four of them across the sea and back to Vesuvia, coaxing him, reassuring him. “I know this is difficult for you.”

“Yes,” Julian admits. There is no hiding it. He holds her hand a little tighter, but he tears his gaze away from his wife’s face and focuses on the boy only a few paces in front of them, staring up at the buildings with wonder. “But it is what’s best for him. That’s what matters, really.”

For that is what being a parent is, after all: sacrifice. 

And Julian, well… he’s always been an anxious parent. He loves his son and daughter both, but it is like his heart has been ripped from his chest and is walking through the world, vulnerable and unprotected. But Julian has always been able to keep a watchful eye over the both of them. They are a close family, tight knit; perhaps that is to be expected, given their nomadic lifestyle, traveling from place to place, setting up pop-up clinics and apothecaries… going where they are needed, helping where they can. 

But now—now that Dmitri, his oldest, has turned thirteen, and his magical aptitude has become irrefutable—he is going to be separated from his son.

“It’s only one summer,” Aredhel says, as though that makes any sort of difference. “Not even three months, really. And Asra will be looking after him. Nothing is going to happen to him, Ilya.”

It’s true—it’s not exactly like Dima will be unprotected here. Asra will take him on as an apprentice, for a time. Teach him the ins and outs of magic and the Arcana in a way Aredhel no longer can, since she bargained her magic to free Julian from the curse that would have kept him from aging, from dying. Asra will be a good teacher to Dima; Asra will protect him.

As if that weren’t enough, Portia’s still here, too, with Nadia. And Mazelinka—old as she may be, now—is delighted at the prospect of being able to spend some time with Julian’s son. There are many people here in Vesuvia who will love him, who will look after him.

So it isn’t, really, that he’s even so worried about Dmitri getting in trouble. He is a well-behaved boy, mild-mannered, introverted, sweet. Inexplicably, he possesses none of the inclination to get into trouble that both his mother and father share. He’s not the kind of boy to go tumbling, carelessly, into vampire-eel infested aqueducts, or toppling over fruit carts.

Really, it’s just that Julian is going to _miss him so badly…_ ‘three months,’ Aredhel says, but here, on the edge of saying goodbye, that feels like an eternity.

And his son—his beautiful, kind, smart, sensitive, _miracle_ of a son—knows it, too. As they’ve gotten closer to the journey, he’s sensed Julian’s anxiety; Dmitri’s been careful, Julian thinks, not to appear _too_ excited for his summer in Vesuvia, aware (without having to be told, and without it being mentioned) how much the separation is grieving his father.

“Dima! Hold up a moment!” Aredhel calls ahead and Dmitri slows to a stop, turning back, watching his parents with the same silvery eyes as his father. He is patient, but Julian can see the excitement, barely suppressed, in the way he is carrying himself as they make their way across the city to Asra’s shop.

“Here,” Aredhel says, quietly, turning to Julian. “Would you like to carry Katya? Will that help?” 

She turns, offering Julian their second child—little Katya, only seven. Julian reaches for her eagerly. Katya’s asleep—exhausted, probably, from all the excitement—and Julian scoops her easily into his arms, balancing her against his hip, her head coming to rest against his shoulder, her shock of red curls bouncing with each of Julian’s steps. His daughter’s warmth soothes him, some; he dips his head, pressing a grateful kiss to her brow as her small fist clenches in the fabric of his jacket.

But his anxiety only mounts the closer they grow to Asra’s shop. He knows these streets so well—knows the count of steps left that will take them to the magician’s door. _Forty-two, forty-one…_ and once they get there, it will be a swift goodbye. That is all, really, that Julian can handle. If they draw it out, he’ll only make a mess of himself. He’s going to cry, probably, but it’ll be worse if they linger. And he doesn’t want to run this moment for Dmitri, who has looked forward to this summer for so long. Doesn’t want to make his son feel _guilty,_ of all things, for having an adventure of his own. 

“Mama!” Dmitri calls over his shoulder, voice quivering with delight. “Is this it? Are we here?”

In all these years, the exterior of the shop has hardly changed. The walls are still the same shade of periwinkle; the same sign hangs above the door. How many times had Julian come here, seeking Asra, Aredhel, answers…? How many journeys had he begun on this very doorstep? And now, it is time for Dmitri to have one of his own. 

(As if on instinct, Julian holds sleeping Katya to him a little tighter.)

Dmitri has barely finished knocking on the door before it swings open. Instead of Asra standing there to greet him, however, it’s Portia, standing in the door, the biggest grin on her face, her eyes sparkling.

“Is that my nephew?”

“Aunt Pasha!”

Dmitri’s barely got her name past his lips before Portia seizes him and pulls him into a fierce hug, holding him tightly against her.

“Oh, Dima! We’re so _excited_ to finally spend some quality time with you! You’re Dad’s been hogging you for too long—we’ve been _begging_ him to let you stay with us for years,” she says, flashing Julian a disapproving look over Dmitri’s shoulder. “Just wait until you see Aunt Nadia. She’s so excited to see you! We’ve got so much fun stuff planned for you at the palace—that is, whenever Asra can spare you from your studies.”

As if summoned by the sound of his name, Asra appears in the door behind her. Faust is draped around his neck. Asra’s face has hardly changed—time has etched only the finest lines around his eyes and mouth, evidence of the smiles he so often flashes—but his familiar is noticeably different—much bigger. She’s less garden-snake and more python, though Julian’s sure she’s gentle as ever… though he’ll have to have some words with Asra about not letting her squeeze Dima too hard.

“Hello, Dmitri,” Asra says, grinning, tilting his head to the side. “I’m really excited to see you. Portia’s right, we have a lot of fun stuff planned. But you know, it isn’t all going to be fun. I have a lot of stuff planned for the summer—spells to cast, potions to brew—and I’m really going to need your help. Think you’re up for it?”

Dmitri only nods enthusiastically up at Asra, still entangled in Portia’s arms. “I’m ready, Master Asra! I promise I’ll work very hard.”

Asra’s grin widens. He reaches out, bringing his hand to the crown of Dmitri’s head and messing up his finely combed hair. “Just ‘Asra’ will be fine, Dmitri. No need for formalities, here. We’re all family.”

But this is all _much too much_ for Julian. “Pasha, can you—” he says, but doesn’t even finish his sentence before he's passing his daughter into his sister’s arms. “Hello to you too,” Portia mumbles under her breath with an exasperated eye roll, but takes Katya anyway, smiling at her sleeping face. 

(When she holds her like that, their faces so close, the resemblance between them is uncanny.)

“Dima,” Julian says, his voice stern, his face serious. He knees in front of his son, a hand on each of his shoulders. “Now, I know you’re excited, but you have to be careful, alright? Don’t do anything your Dad wouldn’t do.”

“Dad,” Dmitri says, a faint note of exasperation in his voice, “‘don’t do anything you wouldn’t do?’ You’ve stolen a _pregnant war elephant._ It’s like, your favorite story.”

Portia stifles a laugh behind her hand; Asra grins, favoring Julian with a knowing look.

Julian’s eyes go wide, and his mouth falls open—his son is right. ‘ _Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do_ ’ is a pretty low bar if he’s referring to himself—a poor choice of words, if he’s trying to inspire caution. For once, he wishes he’d been a little more tight-lipped about all his adventures… at least until his children were older.

“Fair—fair enough,” he says, with a nod. “Then don’t do anything your mother wouldn’t do.”

Dmitri passes a wary glance at Aredhel over Julian’s shoulder. “Dad, didn’t she… didn’t she murder the last Count?”

This time, Portia can’t suppress her laugh. Asra has to bite his lip to hold back his laughter.

“O-Okay, that’s true, that’s maybe—but in her defense, he was a _very_ bad man, so—”

But then there’s a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him out of the way. Aredhel steers him gently aside, so that she can kneel in front of their son beside him. She reaches out to him, runs her hands down his small and slender arms before taking his hands in his.

“Dima Ilyich Devorak, you have grown up so well, and so _fast._ ” Aredhel sighs, and reaches up to his forehead, pushing a lock of blond hair out of his face where it had settled after Asra mussed it. “You will be careful, yes?”

Dmitri nods vigorously. “Yes, Mama.”

Aredhel grins. “I know you will. Be kind to Asra. Listen to him like you’d listen to us—he will keep you safe. Have fun, but do not be reckless. And never,” she says, leaning close to press the tip of her nose against his, “ _never_ forget how proud your father and I are of you. We are the luckiest parents in the world, to have a son like you.”

Dmitri smiles, but his eyes pull away from his mother’s, and a blush spreads a cross his cheeks—the picture of embarrassment, at all this attention being lavished upon him. “Thanks, Mama,” he says, quietly, his gaze darting back and forth between the ground and his parent’s faces.

Aredhel nods, satisfied. “Good.” She looks up instead at Portia. With a grin, she warns her, “Don’t let Nadia spoil him too much, alright?”

“I will,” Portia says, with a tone of voice that makes it abundantly clear that what she’s really saying is, ‘ _of course we are going to spoil our nephew and if you don’t like it you shouldn’t have brought him here._ ’ Julian can only imagine how Nadia is going to dote upon him. No doubt when they come back to pick him up at summer’s end he’ll have a completely new wardrobe, not to mention the trinkets and other gifts she’ll lavish upon him. 

Aredhel smiles, laughs lightly. Then she stands, leans close enough to press a kiss to Portia’s cheek. “It’s good to see you, Portia. Sorry it’s been so long. You too, Asra,” she adds.

“It has been a long time,” Asra agrees. “But we’ll make up for it. You and Ilya will be joining us later for dinner before you leave town, right?”

“At the palace, right?” Aredhel confirms. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world. But right now… I think we ought to get _this_ one back to bed,” she says, nodding towards Katya, still sleeping like a log in her aunt’s arms.

In the end, the farewell on the doorstep is brief; after all, Julian will have another chance to say goodbye later, after dinner. Until then, Asra and Portia will show Dmitri around the shop, get him settled in the bedroom Asra’s made up for him. This separation will only last a few hours. Even so, as they walk away from Asra’s shop, Julian’s vision blurs with tears.

“Are you alright?” Aredhel asks him, for about the fifth time that day.

“I’m fine,” he lies, though his voice cracks. He clutches Katya a little closer to his chest. “Really. It’s silly, I know, but I just…”

“I know,” Aredhel agrees, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to miss him, too.” 

It will be hard, without him. Their first born—a miracle—conceived even though the both of them thought it should not be possible, given how the plague had ravaged both their bodies, the damaged state it had left the both of them in although they had both recovered. But they will get through it together… as they have come through so many trials, together.

“Hey,” Aredhel says, tilting her head to the side. “What if we go find that garden? You know, the one with the fountain and all the statues. I’m sure it’s in much better shape now that Nadia’s been cleaning up the city. Katya could rest there, and then when she wakes up, maybe we could all go get lunch at the Rowdy Raven? For old time’s sake.”

She is his wife—his rock, his anchor—his strength. Julian swallows his tears and nods, before leaning towards her to press a kiss to her mouth.

 

“Sounds perfect,” he says. “I’d love to.”


End file.
